


Allow the Unexpected

by TheEveling



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Explicit Language, Immortal Fake AH Crew, M/M, Michael is poor as shit, Michael-centric, Michael/Everybody - Freeform, Multi, Ray says no homo, Torture, ot6 is main relationship, the author thinks insanity is reasonable at this point, what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEveling/pseuds/TheEveling
Summary: All it took was Gavin not shutting up for Michael to become part of the crew.Well, that and some mini golf, a bar fight, a little torture, bevs on the Maze Bank roof, and a gas station explosion, but who's counting?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Blood, Language, Violence, Kidnapping, Shooting, Torture, Major Character Kind-of Death(the Fake AH Crew doesn't have time for that shit).
> 
> Inspired by a Vine involving a broke dude, a burglar, and a gun.

He wakes up to the sound of someone busting down his front door.

He isn't scared - his first instinct is to get up and fight, actually, but he decides he would rather stay under his blanket, where he won't freeze to death. He's more irritated about the fact that he’s been woken up than anything else, really.

It sounds like a lot of feet, and when they come around the corner and enter his line of sight in his bedroom doorway, he can definitely confirm that. Who travels in groups of five wearing ski masks and casually breaks into random apartment buildings?

One of them - tall, and he's got biceps from hell - steps toward him, but another at the front of the group lays a hand on Buff and Burly's arm. He takes offense. "Geoff-"

"Not necessary," the apparent leader (Jeff? Weirdly average name for a guy in a ski mask.) says, then turns his gaze to Michael. "We're only here for a little while, to hide from the police. Either you can let us stay, or we can stay anyways."

"Fine, but leave me alone. I was fucking sleeping when you barged in," Michael says, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and regarding the group sternly. "And stay out of my kitchen."

One of them seems very disappointed. He's lanky as fuck, and a moderate height. The only one shorter than him is obviously more dark-skinned, or maybe that's because the sulking one looks disgustingly pale in the low lighting. Not very intimidating, especially when he's slouching like that.

"Just because I'm harbouring five criminals doesn't mean I'm going to let them raid my fridge," Michael says, looking Pouty in what he assumes is an eye past the mask. "I'm going back to sleep."

They all stare at him until Geoff leads them away, presumably into the living room.

"This is new," one of them says. Michael can hear it a bit better than he should be able to, but with almost zero furniture, he isn't really surprised. It sounds like Buff and Burly. "They're usually afraid."

"What, you mean all two times we've come into contact with someone like this?" A new voice. Higher. The short one, maybe?

"I want to know where all his furniture's gone," one says with a thick accent, and it could be the one with the beard or the pouty one with the nose, but it's probably the one with the nose, judging by the pitch.

"That's...a good question," someone(Shorty?) replies, seemingly surprised, and Michael almost braces for impact.

"It's cold as dicks in here," Geoff comments, quieting. "Do you think we just kicked some broke kid's door in?"

"Probably," Big Buff Cheeto Puff concurs.

"Wow, what arseholes you guys are," Accent With a Nose pipes up cheerfully.

"So are you, dickhead," Geoff replies. "Do we want to stay here until they're done looking, or go fuck someone else over?"

"Geoff..." Nose says, and it's silent for a moment. Michael can almost feel the puppy eyes from here.

He takes a moment to consider the situation at hand. Five assholes - obviously criminals - decided to infiltrate his used-to-be-a-bomb-shelter apartment, maybe thinking it was the building's basement. They are now casually lounging in what is supposed to be his living room. Maybe if he had money for anything but rent, it would look like a living room, too. To make the situation just a little bit worse, they're talking about how poor he is as if he can't hear them, and even pitying him for it. He can deal with the rest of it, but this is not what he needs living in the middle of the city with a part-time, minimum-wage job. He makes enough for rent, utilities, and eating when he needs to. Occasionally he can afford his ancient phone. There's no room for anything else.

"Is he asleep?"

Big Nose pops into the sliver of vision Michael has past the edge of the blanket. "No, and he's glaring at me.”

"Hey, asshole," Geoff says from the living room with some exaggerated grumbling(he's obviously standing), then from the bedroom doorway. "Don't eavesdrop on people's conversations."

"Are you kidding me?" Michael is suddenly very animated. "You come into my house-"

"How broke are you?"

"Gavin-"

"What's it to you?" Michael asks, eyes narrowed.

Geoff sighs. "You don't have anything, kid, and Gavin is a curious piece of shit." No way in hell he's admitting that he is also a curious piece of shit.

"I have a job," Michael replies casually as he temporarily pushes the blanket away from his face, hoping they won't take the avoidance as "I'm dirt poor and I eat ramen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"What's minimum wage now?" Nose - er, Gavin asks in wonderment.

"Does it matter?"

"What he's trying to say is that you're fucking poor, dude," a voice that must be Shorty's calls from the living room.

"I'm obviously doing fine," Michael retorts. "I thought I told you to leave me the fuck alone."

"Touchy subject, then," Gavin mumbles as he and Geoff move back into the living room. Michael would give him shit for it, but they're too far away. He doesn't have the energy to yell or the heat to get out of bed.

Contrary to his plans to stay awake so they don’t kill him when he isn’t looking, he falls asleep to the sound of them talking in the living room. They aren't around in the morning, but his door has been mysteriously repaired.

 

They appear again a few weeks after that. Michael doesn't see them, but in the morning there is a note left on the kitchen counter stating there are pancakes in the fridge(they'd sent Gavin out to buy mix), and a twenty-dollar bill next to a winky-face. He doesn’t want to think about them going through his almost-empty cabinets. Opening the one above the microwave to pull out a box of cornflakes reveals that they have dumped a few bags of food into them. He tells himself they aren’t coming back just because they pity him. This is fine.

 

A few weeks after that, he comes home from work to find they’ve come and gone again. A lengthier note is left behind mentioning lunch leftovers in the fridge and that they’ve made a key for themselves so they don’t have to keep picking the lock. Michael should be offended, but he’s more relieved they don’t plan on breaking down his door again than pissed they keep welcoming themselves in. They probably would have murdered him by now if that was their plan, and they keep bringing him food.

Besides, there’s something about this group he hasn’t seen before. Maybe it’s the fear they don’t possess – brash and unhesitating, they get to the point. It intrigues him just enough to hope they come back.

He’s stupid, he knows, but he also has nothing to lose.

 

The next time he sees them, it’s been long enough he's convinced himself they don’t actually exist. At least they knock this time, and they aren’t wearing masks, which is probably a good sign.

"Why are you here?" He hasn't even had dinner yet, and he's still in his work uniform.

"Police," Shorty says, as if that explains everything, and it's disappointing because it does.

"Whatever," he almost sighs as he turns away from the door. "I'm having ramen."

"We brought food," Guy With a Beard says, and Michael notices the bags in Buff and Burly's hands, now. Beard Guy sounds almost exactly like him, in fact. Michael has probably been mixing up stuff they say. Shit.

Jack, as he learns Beard Guy's name is, helps him cook, which is good, because Michael isn't sure he even remembers how to make macaroni and cheese, let alone stuff perogies. Most of them end up hanging out in the kitchen-ish area, though eventually Jack banishes Gavin to the living room. He leans against the wall next to the kitchen doorway and occasionally pipes up in conversation instead.

As Michael and Jack are finishing dinner, Ryan(seriously, way too normal a name) and Ray(okay, this one is reasonable) begin to talk about a heist the crew pulled a while back.

“Who made the explosives?" Michael interrupts Ray when he gets to the blowing-out-the-door part. "That sounds like either faulty wiring or shitty storage to me."

"You know how to wire explosives?" Ryan sounds a mixture of pleasantly surprised and amused.

"I work for an electrician. I can tell you what a switch plate is and that you shouldn't stick a fork in a socket, and apparently that explosives have a better shelf life if you don’t store them like a fucking idiot."

"We had it shipped in by one of our contacts on the west coast," Ryan supplies, seeming content with Michael’s answer. "It seemed unlikely that it could be sabotage, so we didn't bother killing anyone over it."

Michael looks to Jack, pulling the last perogie out of the water. He feels like a child seeking approval. "That's done," Jack says with a grin, picking up the bowl of broccoli from the other end of the counter.

"Come get your dinner, asshole," Geoff says, and Gavin practically bounds into the room, stopping only when he's nearly flattened Ray.

"This kitchen was not made to hold six people," Jack says, laughing. "Get your vegetables and get out."

It is in that moment, as Gavin attempts to push Ryan out of the way and Geoff yells something about plates, that Michael realises he had forgotten what good company felt like. He also wonders for a moment how the fuck he found himself in this situation, but decides not to dwell on it.

"Here you go, Michael," Ray suddenly appears, waving a full plate under his nose. Michael doesn't know if he can eat that much food, but he can damn well try.

"How do you know my name?"

"Uh," Ray says, jabbing a finger over his shoulder at Gavin and Geoff, who are still bickering. "Oops.”

"Gavin is our data-analyst-slash-hacker guy," Ryan says. "We've established he's a curious piece of shit."

Geoff pushes between Michael and Jack to get to the food, holding Gavin at bay with one hand. Gavin is doing a weird flail-and-make-weird-noises thing, but, considering everyone is acting like it's normal, Michael thinks it's safe to ignore.

It's a hell of a time trying to get everyone their dinner in Michael's tinyass kitchen, but they make it work. They're finally sitting around the found-for-free-on-the-side-of-the-road coffee table when Michael says, "Why my apartment?"

"It was the closest building, and we thought this was a utility room," Ray replies, confirming Michael's theory. "None of our safehouses were in not-get-shot-by-the-cops distance."

Michael takes a moment to consider the motley crew seated around his coffee table. He isn’t going to think about how much jail time he could get for letting these guys into his apartment. Or that they could definitely kill him right now. "You guys are big time, huh?"

“Fake AH Crew, baby,” Geoff replies with a grin.

“I think I heard about you once,” Michael replies with a furrowed brow, something akin to recognition in his eyes. “Somebody was talking about you at work.”

“Only once?” Gavin squawks in a very offended manner. “What, do you live under a rock?”

Michael arches an eyebrow in Gavin’s direction, waving a hand at the room at large, including his nonexistent TV. “It’s not like I sit down and watch the news.”

“Great, Gavin,” Ray deadpans after a beat of Gavin frowning. “You made it awkward.”

“Ray,” Gavin whines and starts babbling about something else, but Michael’s attention is caught by Jack brushing a hand against his arm.

“Don’t worry about him,” Jack says quietly enough not to interrupt Gavin’s…whatever he’s doing. “He’s kind of an asshole.”

“I noticed,” Michael replies easily. Jack grins at his response, then looks confused as Michael’s smile falls into a grimace.

“What’s up?”

“I need to get this out of the way,” Michael says, regarding the group at large. Gavin stops talking for once. “Am I some shitty poor-kid-charity-case you guys decided was convenient to make yourselves feel better?”

“The million-dollar question,” Geoff grins, Ray mumbles “pun intended” and Geoff shoots him a tired glare. “We don’t do charity cases, kid. Gavin never shut the fuck up about you, so we ended up coming here if we were looking for a place to hide out, but now you’ve gone and made us like you.”

“My bad,” Michael replies. “And, for the record, you’re all a bag of dicks. Stop breaking into my house.”

Jack grins. “You’ll fit right in.”

There it is. A promise of something more. Future visits, at least. Michael isn’t sure how to feel about it. By the time he’s kicked them out late that night with the excuse of work in the morning, he isn’t sure he wants to know.

 

The next time he sees any of them, Geoff is pulling up to the sidewalk next to Michael in a ridiculously pink sports car and leaning over the passenger seat to yell at him. “You want me to drive you somewhere?”

“I have legs, Geoff, I can walk,” Michael replies with a grin, gesturing vaguely up the street as he continues moving, albeit a little more slowly. “My apartment’s right here.”

“Let me take you out for lunch, then,” Geoff counters, keeping pace with Michael despite the car stuck behind him that is loudly honking, and the few quickly approaching. Michael would stop to consider the offer, but he’s sure the accumulating traffic would band together to murder him. “I don’t have anywhere to be, kid.”

Michael realises that for the poorly-veiled threat it is – either go with Geoff or have him follow at a snail’s pace all the way down the street – and throws a glance over his shoulder before sprinting over to Geoff’s car and climbing into the front passenger seat. He probably won’t get cornered in a dark alley and axe murdered. “You didn’t have to throw threats around, Geoff, Christ.”

“Yes I did,” he replies cheerfully, picking up speed to drive at a clip somewhere within the vague vicinity of the speed limit. “What do you want for lunch?”

“Well, since I’m still in my grease monkey uniform, burgers sound fine,” Michael says, only a little sarcastically. Geoff could hand him a lukewarm, half-eaten takeout pizza and he would be fucking delighted.

“Burgers it is,” Geoff replies, whistling a familiar tune for a moment then pausing to ask, “Aren’t grease monkeys mechanics?”

“I’m close enough,” Michael scoffs as Geoff takes a turn wider than the turning lane, but doesn’t hit anybody. He seems to at least halfway know what he’s doing. “I might as well be an electrician’s slave instead of a guy with a shitload of stuff in his brain about electrical currents.”

“How much is in your brain about electrical currents, exactly?” Geoff asks innocuously enough, pulling up to a Lucky Plucker and turning (more gently, this time) into the parking lot. The building emits Chinese restaurant vibes, but the giant sign says “chicken.”

“You work with that shit long enough and you get a bunch of useless shit in your head,” Michael replies as Geoff presses a button or two and both of the car’s front doors open themselves. They both climb out, and the doors magically close and lock themselves without prompting. “I could reroute a house to turn on the sprinklers every time someone flips a switch if I had the time and convinced myself I had the energy.”

Michael chooses the cheapest combo on the menu(Geoff won’t let him get anything less) and the second they’ve placed their food on the table, Geoff’s phone vibrates. He pulls it out, looks at it for a second, then looks back up and says, “Hey, Michael, have you ever been mini golfing?”

"Dude," Michael says as he unwraps a chicken sandwich. "I live for that shit. My friends and I used to play all the time in high school. I smoked everybody."

Geoff chuckles, typing something. "Maybe someone will give Jack a run for his money.

"Am I going mini golfing?" Michael asks, suspicious. "I didn't agree to this."

"Okay, buddy," Geoff's gaze moves back to meet Michael's as he slides his phone back into his pocket, clearly amused. "Do you want to go mini golfing with the Fake AH Crew?"

"Absolutely."

"That's what I thought."

They pull up to the mini golfing venue - an old arcade with a giant moose statue on the roof - only for Gavin to pull him out of his seat as soon as the door is halfway open. He's smiling as he drags Michael over to the remaining three crew members, who are lounging on a bench in the shade of the building's awning. Ray is dozing, practically in Ryan's lap. Michael saves the scene to tease them later.

"Geoff tells me you're a pro at mini golf," Jack says with a grin as they come to a stop in front of the bench. Gavin hasn't released his hand.

"I haven't played in a few years," Michael replies with mock humility. Geoff appears from behind him and leans against the bench at Jack's side. "But I think I can manage."

Ryan reaches into his pocket and pulls out six tickets. Ray grumbles and moves his legs from atop Ryan's, but remains leaning into his arm as Ryan offers them to Gavin.

"Thanks, Rye-bread," Gavin coos with a grin and shoots off toward the beginning of the golf course, Michael in tow. Geoff and Jack follow more slowly as Michael chooses a putter.

"Gavin, please," Michael says, taking the putter Gavin's just chosen, regarding it calculatingly for a moment, and trading it for a much longer one. "You make it look like you've never been golfing before in your life."

"He uses trial-and-error instead of his brain," Ryan says, pulling a half-awake Ray with him. Gavin sticks his tongue out at him and turns to place a bright yellow ball on the green.

Michael's a little rusty, but he closely trails Jack in points. By the time the game's over, Ray and Ryan are tied for third, only a few points behind Michael, and Geoff and Gavin are bickering over who's in last place.

"What do you say to going out with us?" Jack asks Michael over Geoff's yelling in the background. The summer sun is setting in the distance - it must be later than it feels. "It's kind of a tradition of ours."

"Yeah, we'll get some bevs," Gavin is suddenly hanging from Michael's arm, and Geoff appears soon afterward. "Come on, Michael!"

Maybe it's the way Gavin puts emphasis on the way he says his name, or Jack's hopeful smile, but Michael finds himself agreeing. It's not as if he has anything waiting for him at home.

Soon enough they've claimed a corner booth in some low-lit bar he's seen a few times but never entered. Eventually, everyone has their drinks (alcoholic or not) except for Michael.

"I'll just go up to the bar and get it myself," Michael finally sighs, sliding out of the booth. The waitress must have missed his order.

"I'll go with you," Jack says, sharing a glance with Geoff, but Michael shakes his head. Maybe he can get out of putting it on Geoff's tab while he's at it.

"Nah, I'll just go myself. I'll be right back."

He's standing at the end of the bar waiting for the bartender to finish mixing his drink when a really drunk dude bumps into him, turns slowly toward him with a furrowed brow, and takes a sloppy swipe at the collar of Michael's shirt.

"Dude, it's not even eight and you're wasted," Michael sneers, using a hand to hold the guy at a distance by the arm. He thinks it's probably useless to scold a guy who's already slam-drunk, but maybe he'll get confused and wander off if Michael's lucky. "You don't want to get in a fight with me."

The guy punches him in a surprising show of strength - not enough to really hurt him, but it definitely throws him for enough of a loop for the guy to fumble another punch in his direction. He grabs the guy's wrist and spins him around to pin both hands at his back, slamming his face sideways against the bar counter. The bartender definitely notices that one, but seems to think the situation is under control, looking back down to his work quickly enough.

"You're a real fucking idiot, aren't you?" Michael says as his captive struggles weakly. He doesn't really know what to do with this guy, now. He'll just get himself run over if Michael takes him outside, and he sure as hell isn't going to babysit.

"What's up, Sean?" some guy asks behind Michael and steps around them to stand next to the drunk guy, bending down a little to frown at him. "This kid bothering you?"

A sharp burst of air escapes Michael. Now is not a good time to get aggravated, he thinks, and replies in Drunk Guy's stead. "He wanted to fight me, man."

"So you beat him up, instead?" The new guy scoffs, frowning some more, then turns to Michael, already pushing up his sleeves. He’s got some muscle. "Alright, I'll bite. I haven't had a good fight in a while."

Michael glances over his shoulder to see if the booth is in sight, but he must be losing his touch, because that gives the guy enough of an opening to land a solid one on his eye. He reels back, his grip on the guy’s drunk friend loosening enough for Muscle Guy to pull drunk friend behind him, away from the fight. Michael takes that opportunity to recover and return the favour, landing a nice punch to the side of Muscle Guy’s head.

Muscle Guy stands his ground, unfortunately, and his arms lash out, probably to grab Michael, but with a quick dodge and some strategic footwork, one of the guy’s legs collapses and he’s sent crashing to the right, landing on a waitress who is balancing a tray of drinks until they crash to the floor amidst the two people on their way down. The sound of shattering glass fills the bar, and anyone who hadn’t been watching is now.

“Matt?” The guy’s drunk friend watches with mild concern and something akin to confusion as Muscle Guy scrambles somewhat dazedly back to his feet. 

Michael’s got him against the bar when he’s pulled practically up and away from the guy by the waist. He doesn’t struggle, quickly realising Ryan is the culprit. He’s put down quickly enough, anyways. The bartender has a phone to his ear, but when he makes eye contact with a very calm Michael, he says something with a shake of his head and hangs up.

“A bar fight wasn’t really in the plans,” Ryan chides with a grin. “But it looks like you fucked him up pretty good.”

“I’ve had my fair share of fights,” Michael says, then startles as someone grabs his arm and spins him around.

“Michael, you’re beautiful,” Geoff is laughing, and Michael’s heard the guy chuckle before, but this is something new.

“No jostling,” Jack calls from farther back as Gavin sprints toward them. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“You right,” Ray says, picking a shard out of Michael’s hair from where he’s appeared on his other side. “Good job, dude.”

Michael can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not, but says “thanks” anyways as Gavin bounds up to stand beside Geoff.

“Michael, that was amazing!” he says, a little too excited, then turns to Geoff. “We should bring him to Singleton’s.”

“Not right now,” Jack chides, pushing between everyone to pat Michael down for injuries. “That’s going to be a nasty black eye. Did you not notice the glass in your arm?”

Michael tries to move his arm to take a look and feels it before he gets that far, wincing as he tries to move it back to his side without jostling anything. “No, but I definitely do now.”

“Cool, adrenaline’s wearing off,” Ray comments, picking another shard of glass out of Michael’s hair and dropping it on the tile, where a different waitress is cleaning up the mess. “You’re bleeding on the floor.”

“Great,” Michael replies grimly. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“Let’s get you to your apartment,” Jack says, but it’s more of a command than a request. “Ride with me this time.”

“I’m going to bleed all over your car.”

“Who gives a shit?” Geoff waves him off.

Ryan shrugs. “Hydrogen peroxide exists for a reason.”

He does bleed on the polyester of the car’s seat - Gavin assures him it isn’t a big deal, and even if it is, Michael’s half-sure Gavin could convince the rest of the crew anyways. They make it back to his apartment in record time, but considering Jack’s a hell of a driver and they were only in Vespucci to begin with, Michael isn’t really surprised.

“First-aid kit’s in the cabinet under the sink,” Michael says, waving a hand at a door as he sits down on the living room floor. He doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed about his empty apartment this time. “Bathroom.”

By the time Jack’s emerged from digging through the cabinet in the bathroom, Ray is seated knee-to-knee with Michael on the living room floor, Gavin leaning against his other side.

“Shoo,” Jack motions Gavin away. “That’s the arm I need.” He gives Jack just enough space to do what he needs, and Jack sighs at him, but sits down to start his work anyways.

“So you’re a fighter?” Ryan asks, sitting across from him on the carpet as Geoff emerges from the bathroom. Jack’s finished his prep and is about to pull the glass from Michael’s arm with a pair of newly-disinfected tweezers. This is clearly an attempt to distract him, and it might be working.

“I wasn’t exactly a model student,” Michael admits, wincing as Jack quickly pulls a small shard. Geoff takes a seat next to Ryan. “I got my start in high school. For a few years after graduation I lived with a few friends and we went out to drink sometimes. The fights usually find me.”

“What happened to your friends?” Gavin asks as Ray mumbles something about what the fuck, man, more of this shit and pulls a few tiny bits of glass from Michael’s hair.

Michael almost shrugs, but decides that’s a bad idea as Jack moves back in with the tweezers. “One of them died. I had a falling out with the other one.”

“Shit, man,” Ray says, and takes his hand when it clenches into a fist as Jack pulls out the second, slightly larger piece. Gavin leans against Michael’s back, and it’s both a comforting gesture and something of a distraction.

“Last one,” Jack says apologetically, taking a moment to preemptively pull out a few bandages. “On three…one, two-“

It’s the oldest fucking trick in the book, but it works. Michael expresses a quick, deep stab of pain with a sharp intake of breath, and it’s over before he realises he’s been duped.

“Jack, you sneaky bastard,” Michael almost grins as Jack produces another alcohol swab. The sizzle pales in comparison to pulling an inch of glass.

“Works on Gavin every time,” Jack does grin. “Of course, he gets much more offended than you.”

“I do not,” Gavin squawks as Jack applies the first bandage. “You’re a bloody minge, Jack.”

Jack checks out Michael’s eye and instructs him on ice pack application. The crew departs with much celebration despite the circumstances, and Michael goes to bed that night feeling like he’s passed some sort of test.

 

“Michael,” He has just opened his door to find Gavin, bloodied and on his doorstep, though his tone is pleasant enough. “Can I come in?”

“Sure thing,” Michael replies, stepping back to let the new arrival into his apartment, closing the door behind him. He is still attempting to take stock of the situation. It’s not every day a guy shows up at your door whistling a jaunty tune and covered in blood. “Do you need the first-aid kit?”

“Would be nice,” Gavin replies, stepping into the kitchen where the tiles will be easily cleanable if he drips blood on the floor.

Michael leaves Gavin’s sight for a moment to dig through the under-the-sink cabinet in the bathroom and emerges not long after that, first-aid kit in hand. “Where’s everyone else?”

“I went out to get some bevs,” Gavin says with a grin. “Guy jumped me. I put up a good fight, though.”

“Do you get mugged a lot? What the shit, dude?” Michael asks with some definite concern as he places the kit on the counter and unzips the cover. He might as well just do it himself – knowing Gavin, something will go wrong. “Where are you hurt?”

“Oh, loads,” Gavin replies, offering a nice slice in his upper arm and pointing out a slight graze on his cheek as Michael produces some alcohol swabs. “We have a betting pool on how long it’ll be. Ray won this time.”

“They just don’t care that you get attacked all the time?” Michael begins wiping away the blood surrounding Gavin’s wounds with a frown. Gavin doesn’t seem to notice the sting of the alcohol. “That’s pretty fuckin’ nice of them.”

Gavin shrugs. “We used to. It’s different, now.”

Michael works in silence for a moment. “Was I closer than a safehouse, again?”

“I would have gone to the house in Little Seoul,” Gavin says as Michael pulls out another alcohol swab and stands up straight so he can work on the superficial wound on Gavin’s face with a sympathetic wince. “But you were closer, and we haven’t seen you in a while. Figured I’d stop by, make sure you weren’t dead.”

Michael pauses for a moment with his hands holding Gavin’s face in place, his gaze moving to meet green eyes sternly, then decides to think about it later. Now isn’t a great time to talk about him being a pity case. He is just finishing up with Gavin’s cheek when a phone rings.

Gavin takes a moment to fumble his cell phone out of his pocket with his left hand and answers it without looking. He’s making a valiant attempt to stay as still as he can for Michael, and it isn’t really working, but he appreciates the effort.

“Where are you?” Geoff’s voice, pretty clearly. Gavin must have put the call on speakerphone. “And where’s my beer?”

“Got mugged again,” Gavin replies, and a chuckle sounds from Geoff’s side. Probably Jack - they must be on speakerphone, too. What a fucking party. “I’m with Michael. Say hi.”

“How’re you doing, kid?” Geoff asks.

“Well, I was doing great until Gavin showed up and bled all over my floor,” Michael replies, voice carefully even as he turns to the counter to sift through bandages. He’s keeping his cool about this. “He says you let him get jumped all the time.”

“Yeah, it’s funny as hell,” Ray says from rather far away from the phone. Michael can’t read his tone. 

“It’d be just hilarious if he died, right?” Michael is not keeping his cool about this.

“Michael, buddy, it happens all the time.”

“Doesn’t seem funny to me.”

“We’ll explain later,” Geoff says, and he sounds almost pleading. It’s strange, coming from him, and that’s enough to convince Michael to let it go for now.

“Fine,” Michael replies, pulling out a butterfly bandage that was hidden beneath the first-aid guide, placing the gauze and the waterproof tape on the counter and turning back to Gavin. “But don’t think I’m letting you get away with being assholes.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack says. “Also, hey, do you want to go out for dinner on Thursday?”

Michael pauses in his application of the butterfly bandage over the slice in Gavin’s arm to frown. “I don’t get my paycheck until Friday.”

Geoff doesn’t miss a beat, offering what is definitely a newly made-up excuse. “On our dime, kid. As thanks for patching Gavin up.”

Michael sighs. He isn’t interested in letting other people pay for his shit, but he also isn’t in a position to refuse. The way he eats, he’ll get leftovers out of it, too. “Sure.”

"It's a date," Geoff confirms, and Michael can hear his grin.

“Heyo,” Ray pipes up, and what might be a door opening and closing sounds as Michael places the bandage precisely on Gavin’s arm and picks up the gauze and tape to start working on his face again.

“Anything new?” Ryan says, voice slightly muffled. He must be far away from the phone.

“Gavin got mugged again,” Ray says. “Pay up, bitch.”

“Also, we’re going out for dinner with Michael on Thursday,” Jack talks over Ryan’s resigned complaint.

“He patched me up nice and quick,” Gavin supplies as clearly as he can without moving his mouth too much. Michael fixes him with a half-hearted glare.

“I’ll stop here if you keep talking.”

Ryan laughs, voice clearer through the speaker now. “He found his way to your place, huh?”

“Bled on my carpet and everything,” Michael replies, taking the phone from Gavin’s hand and placing it on the counter, then pressing a square of gauze gently against Gavin’s cheek. “Hold this.” Gavin does as told as Michael begins medical-taping the gauze in place.

“I’m impressed,” Ryan says in a tone of appraisal. “First you know how to wire explosives, then you can fight, now you know first-aid. What’s next, archery?”

“I didn’t say I could wire explosives,” Michael replies, placing the last piece of tape carefully and stepping back to view his work. “And I prefer things with a bang. Archery is for babies.”

Geoff laughs, and Jack asks with some curiosity, “How much do you know about first-aid?”

“Enough. You’re good,” Michael nods at Gavin, who takes back his phone, and moves to put everything back in the kit. It’s going to need refilling soon at this rate. “I’m a little rusty, but I got in enough fights back in the day that I learned how to take care of some shit.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re done, so we’ll let you go,” Geoff says, interrupting whatever Jack is about to ask next. “This Thursday, Haute in Del Perro. We’ll text you the time of the reservation.”

“I don’t…” Geoff has hung up before Michael can finish his sentence.

“Do you have a phone?” Gavin asks as he shoves his own into his pocket.

Michael frowns, says “not really” and produces the ancient flip-phone from his jeans. Gavin pockets it and pulls out a smartphone from his own back pocket, placing it in Michael’s still-outstretched hand with a flourish.

“Gavin…”

“It’s encrypted so people can’t hack you, but you can do whatever you want with it – make sure you set a good password or two in case someone gets their hands on it. It’s got unlimited everything,” Gavin supplies with a grin.

Michael finally looks from the phone in his hand to Gavin’s face. “Why are you giving me a phone?”

Gavin shrugs, but his smile does not leave him. “The crew might need to contact you. It was Geoff’s idea, I just did all the dirty work. Our numbers are already in there.”

“No, like, why are you giving me a phone?” Michael might be having a little bit of a moment. “Why did all of this happen to me?”

Gavin’s grin turns into something much more meaningful. “Maybe it was always supposed to be you, Michael.”

 

Michael steps out of the cab and takes a moment to consider the restaurant in front of him. Reservation’s at seven, they’d said. Dress casual.

Of course they had said this assuming Michael doesn’t own much in way of fancy clothing, and they had been right. This is not a casual-dress restaurant, but Michael also has no doubt they’re more powerful in this city than he knows.

This should scare him. Unfortunately, it does not.

The hostess takes one look at him and brings him past the small crowd waiting to be seated to the back of the restaurant, where five men he now knows quite well are waiting for him in a corner booth, laughing at something. Gavin crows when he notices the hostess leading Michael over, and the rest of the table turns their attention to him with wide smiles and animated gestures. They are in various versions of fancy dress, it seems.

Geoff has gone all out, bowtie and all. Ryan’s cleaned up nice, in some form of badass business casual. Jack is also business casual, but a little less I-steal-shit-for-a-living. Gavin is wearing pink shorts and a dress shirt, a rather strange combination, but he’s forgone his sunglasses in the low lighting. Ray is chilling in a hoodie and jeans. Respectable compared to Michael, but at least he doesn’t look homeless next to them. This is fine.

As he nears them, Gavin springs up to pull Michael into the booth. He only loses his balance a little bit, nearly falling over into Gavin’s lap and by extension Ryan’s, but he catches himself with a hand on the table.

A waitress makes her way over within a minute to take their drink orders, and upon hearing almost all of them order some kind of alcohol, he asks for a beer of his own. Geoff’s smile is approving for just a moment until the waitress leaves and his gaze moves to Gavin, who is leaning into Ryan’s shoulder.

“Watch out for that one,” he warns, waving a hand in Gavin’s direction. “He’s a lightweight.”

“Don’t let him grab you when he’s drunk,” Ray offers lightly. “He clings.”

“Alright,” Michael replies, nothing but amused. “As long as he doesn’t follow me home.”

“No promises,” Ryan says, and Gavin squawks in disbelief.

“I wouldn’t!” he protests. “You’re a right prick, Rye.”

It becomes easier to settle in when the drinks arrive, maybe because he can keep his hands busy with the bottle, or maybe because he’s almost finished his beer by the time the food arrives. He’d ordered one of the cheapest things on the menu, not really looking at the description. Something about pasta. He’d made a good choice, he realises as his plate arrives. Then again, he could probably order anything on the menu and it would be a good choice.

By the time he’s eaten what he can of his dinner, Geoff has ordered him another beer and it’s halfway gone. Michael is feeling a little buzzed. He should stop drinking before he makes a fool of himself, probably, but Gavin is clearly tipsy, and he’s only had one. Would be hard to make more of a fool of himself than Gavin does sober, he figures.

He leaves dinner that night a little tipsy and maybe too content, but his stomach is full and he has leftovers for tomorrow. The night had gone well enough that they promised to visit him soon, probably without being on the run from the police this time. That is enough to assure him he hasn’t somehow ruined everything. He exits his taxi in front of his apartment building, sleepily pays the driver, somehow doesn’t fall down the stairs to his apartment door, fumbles his leftovers into the fridge, and falls asleep with his shoes on.

He wakes up to the sound of someone busting down his front door. Again.

“You guys know you can just fucking come in,” Michael says, sliding out of bed. These assholes wake him up one more time and he’ll have to start investing in earplugs. “You’d better fix that shit.”

He steps out into the hallway, is met with something hitting him very hard, and barely feels it when his back meets the carpet.

 

He wakes again in a large, almost cavernous room, tied to a chair. His first thought is that this seems a little too much like cliché bullshit for him. His second thought is that, based on the light coming through the many windows near the ceiling, he’s been out for a long time.

It doesn’t take long for him to realise he’s in a warehouse, and it takes even less time for him to realise whoever brought him here has plans, and unfortunately they’re probably for him. The way the ropes tying him to his seat are just a little too tight says as much, as well as the absence of his phone, which he is almost certain had been in his pocket last night.

As if on cue, a door on the wall across from him opens and someone enters the warehouse. A really tall guy with really big muscles leads them in, unfortunately. A shorter, far less intimidating man follows him, and a woman (who is wearing some highly unpractical but fashion-conscious heels) brings up the rear.

“We understand you are connected to the Fake AH Crew,” the shorter man begins, producing a clipboard and pen. “What is your relationship with them, exactly?”

“What the fuck?” Michael is going to keep his cool this time. He has a feeling they will not take too kindly to threats of violence. Nonetheless, he would like some idea of what’s going on. “Why am I here?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“Me first,” He sneers.

“Answer the question,” the tall man says, his voice booming – unnecessarily, really – and Michael suddenly feels the need to comply. He also feels the need to lie. If he gives them the wrong idea, they’ll think he isn’t important enough to bother with, and at the very least they won’t get anything out of him regarding the crew. It’ll be fine.

“We barely know each other,” he says, and immediately knows that was the wrong answer when the woman and the tall man share a glance.

“Yet you’ve been out with them twice and they’ve visited you multiple times,” the short man says, unconcerned. Shit. They’d been watching him longer than just last night. Of course. “Would you like to try that again?”

“We’re friends,” Michael says this time. Half-truths might work. “I don’t know much about them.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” the man with the clipboard replies. “They seem to like you quite a bit. Juna?”

The other two step forward. The woman pulls out a Taser. Michael had been Tased on a dare, once. Doing it again is not exactly his idea of a good time.

It’s too late for that thought, really, because for a few seconds the world burns, and Michael finds himself what seems freshly electrocuted, having tipped himself and his chair over in his convulsions. He feels impossibly sore, he realises as the large man pulls his chair back to its feet with a beefy hand. He might want to cry a little bit.

“First we Tase you,” the woman says, smiling as if Michael hadn’t probably just foamed at the mouth a little too close to her shoes. “Then we start shooting toes off. After that go your fingers.”

“Try me,” Michael spits at her feet. Being Tased does wonders for one’s mood.

He’s met almost immediately with a sidewinder from the tall guy, and for a moment, he’s so dazed he hears gunshots. He realises that’s exactly what they are when the group in front of him shares a glance and the two guys trot off toward the door. The woman directs her attention back to him, producing a pistol and leveling it at his feet.

“Seems like we didn’t get to have as much time together as we wanted,” she says. “A real shame.”

She looks him in the eye as she pulls the trigger, and Michael decides he never wants to get shot again, either, which is a massive understatement. Being Tased hurt a fucking lot, but getting shot is a raw, intense pain he is not prepared for. He feels something that’s either snot or tears run down his face. Maybe both.

She has the gun leveled at his chest when the door bangs open and Geoff enters the warehouse, purpose in every step.

“Pull the trigger and you die,” he says, she lowers the gun, and he shoots the bitch anyways. She falls fast.

Jack isn’t far behind him, and as Geoff is behind Michael cutting the rope that binds him to the chair and telling Gavin “we have him,” Jack is in front of him, hands on him to assess the damage. Michael can’t help but let out an anguished noise when Jack’s foot bumps his. Jack looks down, sees what the kid in the chair hasn’t yet, and says, “Oh, Michael.”

Ryan walks through the door next with a, “Ray is still on the roof,” but his pace quickens when he sees them all huddled together. Michael is leaning forward to spit blood on the floor when Ryan reaches them.

“Michael, I-“

“If one more person tells me they’re sorry, I’ll fucking murder all of you,” Michael interrupts hoarsely as Ray appears in the doorway. “And if you say you regret bringing me into this or whatever, I’ll run you over with a golf cart - it’s not your fault, got it? I’m too tired for that shit.”

“Let’s get you home, Michael,” Jack says, bending down to pick Michael up.

“You are not picking me up like a princess.”

“You’re not walking like that.”

“I have an idea,” Ray says, having joined the group. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Geoff is about to say something, probably to scold Ray, but Michael just sighs and says, “Yeah, that’s reasonable,” and allows Jack to pick him up. He feels unreasonably sleepy on the walk to their car, and no sooner has he been buckled in than he is out like a light.

 

This time, he does not wake to someone busting down his front door, and for that, he is thankful. Instead, he wakes to find himself in a rather comfortable (and warm, at that) bed, Ray seated at his bedside and fiddling with his phone.

He frowns as a headache becomes very apparent, and shifts to sit up against his pillows, which are numerous and very comfortable. The only explanation he has for this is being either in one of the crew’s safehouses or in their home base itself. Either way, that’s some serious trust they’re showing.

Maybe getting Tased was a good way to prove himself.

“Dude, you good?” Ray says, attention pulled away from his phone by Michael’s movements. Despite his tone, there is something akin to concern in his expression as Michael winces.

“I’ve just got a headache,” Michael replies, voice rough. “Can I get some water?”

Ray departs with a nod, but it isn’t long before Gavin practically barrels through the doorway, talking at warp-speed.

“Michael, boi, they brought you in all bloody, and Jack took you into the room and they wouldn’t let me see you–“

“Gavin, please,” Michael demands hoarsely. “I have a headache.”

“Sorry, boi,” Gavin whispers, his voice returning to a normal volume as he sits on the end of Michael’s bed, carefully avoiding Michael’s feet, one of which is obviously heavily bandaged even through the blanket. “What happened last night?”

“I fell asleep after I came home from the restaurant, and they woke me up banging on my door. I thought it was you guys being idiots, so I got up to open the door, and they knocked me out with something,” Michael explains, picking lint from the hem of his shirt. Well, not his shirt. He suspects it’s Ryan’s. It’s a little too big on him and definitely not the one he went to dinner in. “I should have been more on guard.”

“First you’re telling us you’ll run us over if we say it’s our fault, now you’re taking blame,” Jack says good-naturedly as he enters the room, Ray at his heels with a glass of water and some pills, which he hands to Michael. They are quickly downed. “It’s not your fault either, Michael.”

“You didn’t even know what we do,” Ray shrugs. “That’s not on you, man.”

“I kind of knew,” Michael protests. “You’d told me who you were and mentioned shit before. I had an idea.”

“You didn’t know who we were,” Jack shakes his head. “You knew our name, but that doesn’t mean anything unless you’ve heard it before.”

“We can talk about this later,” Ryan says, automatically matching the volume of the rest of the room (much to Michael’s relief) as he appears to lean in the doorway. “What’s the prognosis?”

“He hasn’t actually told us what happened,” Gavin supplies. “Says they found him at his apartment, though.”

“Fine, whatever,” Michael says. “I woke up tied to that chair. The guy asked me how I knew you guys. I told him to fuck off. The chick Tasered me, the other guy punched me, the two guys ran off because they heard you guys murdering everyone, and the chick shot me in the foot.”

“She was about to shoot him again when I showed up,” Geoff speaks up from the hallway. The room is filled with frowns.

“Damn, dude,” Ray says. “That’s pretty metal.”

“Thanks,” Michael scoffs. “I live to please.”

“You don’t have to worry about them, Michael,” Geoff says, and Ryan moves back a little so everyone can be seen from the bed, including Geoff. “We took care of it.”

“Fuckin’ merked,” Ray mumbles.

“That should probably scare me,” Michael says casually. “But I think I’m okay with it.”

“Fuckin’ great,” Geoff says, smiling now as he reaches for his back pocket and tosses something onto the bed. “Here’s your phone. When you didn’t answer anything for a long fuckin’ time and your activity logs were nothing but thousands of incorrect passwords, we tracked it to where they had you. The encryption kept them out of your phone, luckily, but it took us a while to get to you because we were busy sending B-Team off in every other direction. We’re lucky they had you and your phone in the same place. If we’d been just a little earlier, we could have spared you a lot, and I’m sorry for that.”

“What would the fun in that be?” Michael replies, and when no one appreciates his morbid joke, waves them off. “It’s not your fault, but apology accepted because that one makes sense, I guess.”

“Great, and even better,” Geoff says. “Tonight is movie night, and you can’t escape us.”

 

They had told him he shouldn’t be afraid of movie night. He’s starting to think they were wrong.

First it’s Twister, which is fine, but then they put on Birdemic because he’s never seen it, and that one is enough to make him lose faith. It only gets worse from there. He’s starting to think they’re going down a list of Worst Movies Ever Made when they put on Howling II.

“This is the actual worst,” Michael says, stealing another handful of popcorn from the bowl on Gavin’s lap as a bunch of people covered in fur do their thing onscreen.

“No, the worst part is that people thought this was a good idea,” Jack replies with a chuckle.

“Is this movie night every time?”

“Every month,” Geoff grins mischievously. “We’ve watched a lot of shitty movies.”

“I don’t know why you would put yourselves through this,” Michael mumbles and shoves some popcorn in his face.

“For the popcorn, clearly,” Ray says, doing the same with the popcorn in the bowl in his own lap.

“Both of you shut up,” Ryan admonishes jokingly. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“You’re trying to watch this movie?” Gavin is incredulous. “You were talking during Twister!”

Ryan turns to look at Gavin over Michael’s head. The three of them and Ray are sprawled on the sectional sofa, Ryan’s arms on the back of the couch behind Ray and Michael. Gavin is more perched on the arm of the couch leaning on Michael than anything, since Jack had scolded him for trying to cuddle earlier. They’d stuck him on the long portion of the sofa to elevate his leg, not so Gavin could smother him, much to the disbelief of Gavin himself.

“I bet I can be quiet for ten minutes,” Gavin says, and there’s a certain tone of seriousness to it Michael doesn’t understand yet.

“Make it half an hour and I’ll go three thousand,” Ryan replies easily.

“You’ve got it,” Gavin says. “Michael, you’re the scorekeeper, starting now.”

Gavin does not make it half an hour. Gavin makes it about seven minutes before he squawks at something that’s happened in the movie, and he reluctantly pulls out his wallet to fork over a wad of hundred-dollar bills once Ryan’s done gloating. Michael realises two things – one, holy shit they were serious, and two, these guys are fucking rich what the fuck.

He’s known they’re wealthy, and that they’re an important crew or whatever, but to be throwing around a few thousand dollars like it’s nothing is a holy shit moment. That’s more than he makes in a month. For a brief moment he’s angry at the system for being shitty and at himself for letting himself be so monetarily in-the-hole, but Gavin must have felt him tense because he asks if he’s alright, and he lets it go. It isn’t worth giving a fuck about, he decides, and takes another handful of popcorn.

 

A few days after that, while they’re eating lunch, sitting at the bar counter in the kitchen, Michael asks when he’ll be heading home. He’d called in a few days at work after that first day (which, luckily, had already been a day off), which would fuck him a little financially, but he hadn’t been fit to do much of anything. He’d rather take a few days off and suffer a little bit than go in, make it worse, and royally fuck himself later on.

“Actually, we wanted to talk to you about that,” Geoff says with an I-guess-I’m-not-getting-out-of-this-now sigh. Michael panics a little, thinking he’s overstayed his welcome, and Geoff must see his eyes widen because he continues quickly. “We were hoping we could convince you to move in with us.”

“What the fuck?” Michael says in surprise. His gaze moves between everyone at the counter, looking for some explanation. “I mean, why?”

“Well, lots of reasons,” Jack offers with a smile. “You’ve already lived here a while, and it worked out just fine.”

“We happen to like you a lot,” Geoff says. "It would be pretty shitty if you died when we weren’t paying attention.”

“We do like you a lot, boi,” Gavin says, leaning toward Michael slightly in his barstool.

“No homo,” Ray adds.

“And it’s a lot easier to keep track of you if you’re here,” Ryan says. “Like Geoff said, it would suck if you disappeared, and tracking you down when we actually know where you were in the first place is a lot easier than waiting for you to miss a phone call and being too late.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” Michael says, frowning. He’s trying to think of more questions and failing. There should be more to this, shouldn’t there? “What about my job?”

“You won’t need it,” Geoff says with a shake of his head and a slight smile. “Especially not if you become our demolitions specialist.”

“Your what?”

“The guy who makes the bombs,” Ray supplies half-sarcastically, with hand movements for emphasis.

“You already know some stuff about wiring,” Ryan says. “And storage, apparently. A little practice and you’ll be making your own stuff in no time.”

Michael regards everyone at the bar one more time. “You’re…serious about this, right?”

“We may be assholes, Michael, but we’re not cruel,” Geoff fixes him with a stern gaze. “I expect a lot out of my crew members, but, hell, you’ve already gotten yourself through a lot of shit for us. I don’t know what more I could ask for.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Michael agrees after another moment of consideration. “I don’t have experience with this stuff, but…”

“You have plenty of fighting experience, you like guns, your knowledge of explode-y things – not to mention your stellar fucking attitude,” Geoff grins. “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“When can we go get his stuff?”

“Calm down, Gavin, he only agreed like ten seconds ago.”

“But he’s moving in today, right?” 

 

Michael had quit his job and gotten what little shit he had out of his apartment that same day. Gavin wasn’t the only one eager to get him moved in, apparently. He’d had a little apprehension regarding quitting without giving his two-weeks notice until he realised where he was going, he wouldn’t need references. The criminal business is ride-or-die, he had realised, and that’s also when he realised how nervous he was.

“So I’m getting myself in deep now, and the only way to get out is to go to jail or die,” Michael had confided in Ray that same night, after everyone else had gone to sleep and they were still up playing some old Mario game, much to Jack’s chagrin. Ray had sworn he would make Michael play all the good games he’d missed out on as a poor adult, and he was getting an early start.

“Pretty much,” Ray had replied. “It’s easier if you get into it when you don’t have any other options.”

Michael had frowned, but accepted it as truth, because it sounded unfortunately accurate. Now he is realising it is very true, because then the blame is on something else – like the system – for ruining your life, instead of you.

He is very frustrated.

“Fuck!” Kicking (with his good foot) the leg of his worktable, which is fortunately much sturdier than he wants it to be, he turns away from the mess of wires and vials of powder on its surface. He’s been working on his own explosives since he moved in two weeks ago, and has had nothing in way of results so far. He’d carefully dismantled some explosive products, sure, and deciphered a few hints from that mess, but it wasn’t enough to give him any real progress. He still wasn’t producing anything more effective than a standard grenade, and he still wasn’t confident enough to take any chances with the odds weighed too heavily against him.

“Michael, lunch is almost ready,” Jack knocks on the door a little belatedly. “Should we wait for you?”

Michael runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. It almost works. “No, I’ll be out in a minute.”

When he does emerge from the workspace he had been given when he moved in, as he was one of the few that needed a professional space, they have waited for him anyways and are sitting around the dining room table, laughing at something together. He takes a moment to remember the dinner date that had almost gotten him killed with a fond smile.

"If you aren't making any progress right now," Geoff says once Michael's sat down, clearly making an attempt to satiate his frustration. "That's fine, dude. We weren't expecting you to even start working on anything for a while."

"I'm here," Michael almost sighs, eyes on his plate as he pretends to examine a stray piece of cheese. "I should make myself useful."

"That's not why you're here," Ryan says sternly.

"I know, but-"

"If we didn't want you around, we wouldn't have taken you back here in the first place," Geoff chides. "I don't make a business of letting people into my home unless I actually like them."

“But I’m not helping.”

“We all have times when we can’t do shit. You’ll have them later, too – sometimes one of us is too sick to help out, or shit just isn’t working,” Geoff offers. “Don’t worry about it. We take care of our own.”

"Originally...we were going to ask you to stay here just to keep you safe," Jack adds with a somewhat wry smile. "But we knew you wouldn't want to if you thought you were a charity case, so we decided to ask you to join the crew now instead of waiting like we were going to. We sprung it on you. We don’t expect everything to suddenly start working for you."

"You were going to ask me to join anyways," Michael repeats, trying to process this new information. "You thought I was that good, huh?"

"Most of us started out not knowing shite," Gavin grins. "Everyone has to start somewhere."

Michael leaves the table after lunch that day feeling a little more confident. Like they won't kick him out if he accidentally blows something up. A little more willing to take the risk he needs.

He sits down at his workbench, briefly thinks he needs a haircut as he runs his fingers through his hair again, and looks to the mess of materials on its surface.

Everyone has to start somewhere.

 

Wherever he started is long gone, he thinks as they take the first batch of explosives he's comfortable with for a field test a month later.

Well, less of a field test and more of a let's-blow-things-up-to-see-how-these-new-toys-work test. They perform better than he had been dreading, and the rest of the crew decides to have "bevs on the roof of the Maze Bank to celebrate," which sounds dangerous. Michael doesn't realize what they're doing until they've got a cooler full of drinks and they're climbing into a Cargobob.

They assign Michael to the copilot's seat, since he's never ridden in a Cargobob before. He's admittedly a little nervous about four dudes just kind of hanging out in the back, but they have experience, he supposes. He'll be doing it himself soon enough.

Gavin has a major idiot moment (not like there is ever a shortage of those) and jumps out of the Cargobob before they touch down. Michael is fucking terrified until Gavin rolls easily out of the way of the Cargobob and successfully not over the edge of the building, then fucking angry at everyone in the Cargobob for laughing at Gavin, who could have died, but this is fine.

This is not fine. This is an issue.

"What the fuck?" Michael ignores the rest of them momentarily as he hastily climbs out of the Cargobob, not bothering to close the door behind him, and steps toward Gavin. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Gavin's hands move to splay defensively in front of him. He shares a glance with someone behind Michael. "Michael, it's not -"

"It is," he interrupts, turning around to face Geoff, who is surprisingly close, but he doesn't back off at the hardness of Geoff's gaze. Maybe it's worry that pushes him on, or maybe it's desperation hot on the heels of almost losing one of the five men he actually finds himself caring for, frustratingly enough. "Would you guys laugh if he got his throat slit? He gets attacked all the fucking time and you laugh it off - maybe that's some fucked-up coping mechanism or something, I don't know. What if he -"

"Michael," Geoff says, voice suspiciously calm for how worked up Michael is getting.

"- he could fucking...what, Geoff?" Michael is suddenly very tired. He isn't sure he wants to hear an excuse, but he also isn't sure that's what is being offered.

"We didn't want to tell you yet, but..." Gavin is speaking again as Geoff's arms fold around Michael.

"I'm sorry," Geoff says. "I don't know how to explain this."

"Are you guys dying, or something?" Michael mumbles half-frantically into Geoff's chest. He's only a little confused. He's even more confused when Geoff chuckles.

"The opposite, actually," Ryan says from somewhere beside the now-silent Cargobob. They're all way too calm about this. "We can't die."

Michael wiggles until Geoff's hold loosens, and he takes a step back, eyes wide. Geoff's hands remain on Michael’s arms, a warm presence. "You have got to be shitting me."

"Nah, man," Ray says, popping the tab on a soda.

"No, this is too weird," Michael shakes his head as Geoff's thumb runs circles on his arm. "Whose bet was this? I'll pay up."

"No one," Geoff says, catching Michael's gaze again and holding it. "I would say we would prove it to you, but...Michael, you'll just have to trust us for now."

Michael searches Geoff's eyes for a moment, for something hidden from him, and comes to a consensus. 

"Okay. I still don't really believe you, but...if any of you assholes actually die, I'll shoot you."

"Deal," Gavin says, tugging Michael away from Geoff to pull him into a hug of his own.

"All this touchy-feely shit," Michael half-complains, not really trying to escape. "Yeesh."

"You can die, Michael," Jack says with some definitiveness, stepping around to their side of the Cargobob. "Because we can't, we're a little more afraid you'll leave us."

"No homo, though," Ray pipes up from the Cargobob.

"Nah," Gavin says, swinging Michael around a little bit. "I love my boi."

They settle in on the roof in various stages of laze. Gavin and Ray sprawl out on one side of the helipad to watch the sunset and talk about some shitty NES game. Geoff and Jack descend the stairs after dragging two folding chairs out of the Cargobob with drinks in hand to give themselves a bit of distance. Michael finds himself joining Ryan in the back of the Cargobob, one leg dangling out the open side as he watches Gavin pop a beer open. Ray slides away from him for a moment as beer foam hits the concrete of the helipad.

“Gavin was the first one to decide he really liked you,” Ryan says. His gaze must have followed Michael’s to the two pointing out stars that are already appearing amidst the orange glow of the sunset. “I’m pretty sure he was just excited to find someone that would bother getting angry at him.”

“That bad, huh?” Michael replies, smiling behind his beer.

“I figured out he shuts up faster if you ignore him a long time ago,” Ryan says, a fond grin on his lips as he watches Ray point out what Michael is pretty sure is a penis constellation. “No one else gave him the time of day in the first place.”

“How long have you guys known each other?” Michael asks, a little more quietly than he had intended.

“A long time,” Ryan says, his gaze turning back to Michael. “This whole immortality thing is…complicated.”

“I can see that,” he replies with a slight nod. “I’m still trying to make sense of it, honestly.”

“Sometimes I think we still are, too,” Ryan lets out a breath that is almost a sigh. “It gets bad.”

“I’m…” Michael can’t quite find the words he wants, and he hasn’t even had half a beer yet. He shifts to lean against Ryan for a second. “I’m sorry.”

Ryan shrugs. “No one to blame.”

Eventually Gavin and Ray make their way over to pull out two more folding chairs and sit on the helipad beside the Carbobob, facing Ryan and Michael.

“We saw at least three dicks,” Gavin proclaims, pointing at a few stars as Michael spots Geoff and Jack climbing the stairs across the helipad. “The scrote of the big one’s right there.”

“What’s that about dicks, Gavin?” Jack asks, half-laughing already as he opens the cooler and Geoff sets up their seats.

“You assholes are causing a commotion over here,” Geoff says, voice cracking as Jack tosses him a new beer and he fumbles it, nearly tripping over his chair.

“Absolutely,” Ray replies. “It’s a party up here.”

“Good,” Geoff grins as Jack hands Ray another soda and begins passing beers around. Michael passes one to Ryan, first, then takes the one offered to him. “It’s time for the toast.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Gavin says, protesting as Geoff takes his beer and opens it for him. This one doesn’t spill everywhere.

“To Michael,” Geoff says once Jack’s seated and everyone’s opened their beer in one way or another. “For bar fights, almost beating Jack at mini golf, and taking one for the team.”

 

Michael meets the B-Team one sunny afternoon when they show up at the penthouse for heist planning. Lindsay is the first one through the door, pushing him aside with an “out of my way, asshole, where’s that piece of shit” and an apology from Trevor. Apparently Lindsay’s had a bounty out on Gavin’s head for two months, something about a bet, a lot of shit Michael should probably be concerned by but doesn’t care about.

He starts to care the second Andy walks through the door.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers almost unintentionally. Ryan looks over from the couch, managing to seem unconcerned. “How?”

“How are you here?” Andy asks, regarding him with apprehension and a wry smile. “You try to fight the wrong guy?”

“Not this time,” Michael grins, waving a hand around to indicate the penthouse. “We…ran into each other a few too many times, and here I am.”

Andy steps closer, holding out his hand. “You know, I never thought I’d get to say this, but it’s good to see you again, man.”

Michael shakes it as Ray says “Great, now kiss.”

“Fuck off, man,” Michael says, grinning. “Andy’s one of my old roommates.”

“The one that didn’t die?” Gavin inquires, and Ryan jabs a finger into his side, muttering something about insensitive assholes.

Michael gets along with B-Team well enough. He catches up with Andy until Geoff appears, and he’s halfway through making up a secret handshake with Matt when Geoff shoos them all out the door.

“Good riddance,” Ray deadpans from his seat at the bar, eyes firmly on his phone.

“Are those guys…immortal, too?” Michael asks, curling into the armrest of the sofa. The question comes out sounding much simpler than it had in his head.

“Nah,” Geoff replies from the couch opposite him. Gavin, having fallen asleep about three beers in, is sprawled across his lap. Not much hope for Geoff getting up any time soon. “I used to work with their boss. He’s a pretty cool guy, but when I found out Jack was like me I split from them to work with him. The rest of the crew kind of just showed up.”

“Ryan said you guys have known each other for a long time,” Michael almost grins. “Am I dealing with a bunch of old dudes?”

“Maybe,” Geoff replies thoughtfully. “We found out we all stopped aging a long time ago and stopped counting. Something about meeting each other, a hormonal thing or something. I don’t know.”

“…How can you tell?” Michael finds himself holding Geoff’s gaze, head tilted in curiosity.

“When someone is immortal?” Geoff asks, but continues before Michael can confirm. “You don’t really know until they die, but by then it’s too late, so we try not to do that. Once you die the first time, though, you start doing shit you wouldn’t have five minutes ago. It would be bad if we didn’t have so much fun making Gavin to do stupid shit.”

Michael frowns, but doesn’t object. They seem very convinced.

He doesn’t want to admit he’s starting to hope a little bit, too.

 

It's a shame the first time the immortality theory is tested is during Michael's first heist. It’s been a few months since that night on the Maze Bank roof – Michael might have been able to forget about the whole thing if it hadn’t been brought back to his attention quite so violently.

Despite (or perhaps because of) the heist’s simplification in an effort to ease Michael into the action, it's gone well, they're high on crime, and they're laughing about their successful getaway until, just their luck, the front driver’s-side tire blows and they skid to a stop in the middle of the freeway.

“Gavin…shit, we’re out of range. Jack, find another vehicle,” Geoff immediately commands and Jack obeys, pulling out his phone. “Everyone else, out. We’re making a stand.”

He seems to have forgotten Michael could totally die right now, for which he is glad. They aren’t treating him like porcelain anymore, which in the first place could be because this is his first heist, but he knows it’s more out of fear than anything. He enjoys the adrenaline rush as they pile out of the car and begin mowing down police. He thinks he hears the sound of an RPG being fired, but whoever it is isn’t on this side of the car. Definitely an RPG, he realises as a police helicopter explodes overhead.

He’s hit with some shrapnel as a previously-on-fire police cruiser explodes a few yards away, but he doesn’t notice if he’s bleeding or his aim falters. Michael shoots another cop full of lead and turns slightly to take aim at yet another police officer when Geoff steps toward Michael and is promptly shot in the chest.

Michael doesn’t think much as Geoff’s stance falters with the impact. He’d stepped in front of a bullet meant for Michael, after all. Vision a little blurred, maybe by tears or sweat or rage, he shoots one cop in the head, the one that’s shot Geoff, then that one’s partner, and maybe one more before he’s watching Geoff hit the asphalt. He takes down another officer or two, just to give them a moment’s reprieve, before kneeling next to Geoff, dropping his gun, and waving his hands around as if he has any idea what he should be doing in this situation. This is a little strange, he thinks, I never quite imagined myself kneeling over a dying man in a three-piece suit.

“Fuck, Michael,” Geoff’s mouth is twisted in a strange mixture of a grin and a wince. He sounds tired. Michael can barely hear him over the noise of the firefight surrounding them. “You really got me there.”

“No, no, no, Geoff,” Michael’s hands finally settle on Geoff’s face. Is he supposed to keep him awake or something? “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Hold on, kid,” Geoff replies, somehow managing to sound reassuring though his voice is cloudy. Michael might be hyperventilating a little. “Only takes a minute.”

“Fuck, Geoff!” Michael isn’t equipped to deal with this shit. A few bullets glance off the car next to his head. He growls, “You aren’t allowed to die.”

Geoff closes his eyes, and he is gone, but Michael thinks for a moment there has to be more. Something poetic about the light in his eyes, or some shit, or a proclamation of undying love.

So he picks up his gun, picks off a few more police officers, and waits.

He counts forty-two seconds until Geoff is up again, guns blazing as Jack exits the SUV to take up arms with them.

“I can’t believe you didn’t believe me,” Geoff laughs, firing again. A cop falls back against his cruiser’s open door and slides to slump over the hood of his cruiser.

“Yeah, immortality is a little much,” Michael replies a little hoarsely. Apparently he had cried when he wasn’t looking. “You’ll be explaining that shit later.”

“There’s our ride,” Ryan calls, his voice echoing in their earpieces as a Cargobob appears farther inland, approaching at a fast clip. He shoots off a few RPGs in quick succession, demolishing a police chopper and clearing the road of a few burned-out cruisers as disruptively as he possibly can. “Clear the runway.”

“It doesn’t need a runway, asshole,” Geoff scolds as the Cargobob nears. “Stop blowing shit up. You’ll murder our pilot.”

Trevor lands the Cargobob in the middle of the road and the crew piles in quickly so he can take off again. Michael finds himself sandwiched between Ray and Geoff in a lineup of most-obviously-injured-to-least as Jack pulls a questionably large first-aid kit out of his bag and does his rounds.

“Geoff, again?” Jack admonishes, regarding the bullet-shaped hole and blood on Geoff’s suit jacket with a stern glare.

“Bullet for Michael,” he replies simply, and after a moment Jack seems to accept that as an excuse, because he waves Geoff off and moves down the line.

“What did you get hit by?” Jack asks, waving at the dried blood on Michael’s cheek and arm and digging into the first aid kit, and Michael has to think about it for a moment.

“Car exploded,” he finally says. He’d had to sift past Geoff dying, first.

When Jack’s done with the scolding and the bandaging, he waves Michael off, too, and Michael moves to sit next to Geoff. He’s almost accepted that he died in the first place, sure, but he also isn’t ready to accept that he’s come back quite yet. It’s a dream, he decides until Geoff pulls him in closer and throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he says. “Happens all the time.”

Michael isn’t sure how he feels about that, but, he supposes as he leans into Geoff’s side, maybe he’ll get used to it.

 

He does not get used to it.

It gets worse, maybe, and that’s probably because at this point he’s waiting for it to be his turn to die. First Geoff, then Ryan in an “accident,” Gavin in an extreme display of idiocy involving some new explosives Michael develops, Ray as a victim of a police chopper’s gunman. Gavin dying again does little to comfort him when Jack dies not long after that trying to keep Michael safe. Jack’s is the hardest death to deal with – he hadn’t wanted to believe Jack could.

The rest of the crew is feeling it, too, he senses. Occasionally one will look up at him to make sure he’s not trying to stick a fork in a light socket or his head in the oven. The first time one of them invites themself into his workshop to sit with him while he works, he wants to be offended, but he doesn’t want to die, either, so he chooses not to say anything. They casually don’t bring him on a few outings, spouting excuses like “this is just a hit and run,” or “B-Team’s plans only call for four of us, stay here with Gavin.”

Eventually, Michael is tired of it.

“I’m not a child, Geoff,” he says, arms crossed and gaze hard. “You would do this shit anyways if you weren’t immortal, so you’re being a real fucking hypocrite not letting me go anywhere.”

“I know, Michael,” He scrubs a hand over his face, sighs, and meets Michael’s gaze. “I’m just scared you’ll…we’re scared.”

“Get over it,” Michael replies, but his scowl eases a bit. “I made the decision to join the crew. If I wanted to be safe, I would be sleeping in a freezing apartment right now, not handing you explosives before every heist and definitely not volunteering to ride shotgun. I chose to do this shit, and it’s on me if shit goes wrong. Worry about yourself.”

“Alright,” Geoff says, nodding. He knows he shouldn’t have offered in the first place if he wasn’t willing to take the risk. He’s done being a shithead. “Next heist is yours.”

 

A few weeks and multiple heists later, they all decide to go out and hit a few convenience stores, Gavin included – they won’t need surveillance to shoot one or two guys in the head and take cash out of the register. A harmless enough plan until a woman decides she’s done filling her gas tank as they near the store’s entrance with guns in hand, drips gasoline all over the asphalt in her panic, and somehow blows everything up. Ryan, being the only one behind Michael, reaches for him, probably to protect him in some way, and Michael is very mildly aware of a little of everything, then a lot of darkness, then way too much light.

“Fuck,” he tries to say, squeezing his eyes shut before they even open, but it comes out as more of a groan.

“Holy fuck,” Jack says very close to him, and he becomes aware of a weight straddling him. Judging by the boniness of the ass, it’s Gavin, and that’s only confirmed when he speaks.

“Michael,” Gavin leans over him to pepper his face with tiny kisses, hands on his cheeks. “Bloody hell, Michael.”

“Fuck, man,” that one is Ray. For once in his life, he seems awestruck.

“That was…very lucky,” Ryan says carefully, and Michael makes an attempt to open his eyes, squinting a bit and pulling a hand up to shield himself from the light. The lights are very white and the floor is very hard.

“Gavin, I know you’re having a grand old fucking time,” Michael complains half-heartedly, poking him in the side. “But this is a super fucking uncomfortable floor.”

Gavin leans back for a moment, smile contagiously genuine, then practically leaps to his feet, pulling Michael mostly-gently up with him. A moment of taking stock of his surroundings reveals that they are inside the now very wrecked convenience store. Shelves are knocked over and the clerk is very dead, but the Fake AH Crew seem absolutely fine. Geoff has him under a hard stare, arms crossed. Something in the group seems to shift a moment later as Michael’s eyes alight with recognition.

“Did I just –"

“Michael, you beautiful bastard,” Geoff proclaims, pulling him in to plant a wet one on his lips. Everyone laughs raucously at his expense. “Why didn’t you tell us you were immortal as dicks?”

“Fuck you, Geoff,” Michael almost grins, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “If I’d known about this shit I would have been taking so many more bets.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have time to catch up,” Jack says, stepping toward the door. “For now, let’s get you home. The police will be here soon and the first death is never nice.”

“Why am I so sore?” Michael half-complains as he follows Ray out the door. Gavin has claimed his hand and is half-dragging, half-walking him toward the vehicle Jack has apparently called in.

“No homo,” Ray says.

“Regen sleep is what we call it,” Ryan knocks Michael’s shoulder with his own, perhaps unintentionally, or perhaps the newfound high spirits of the group are getting to him. “You just grew back a whole lot of stuff.”

“Yeah, scrubs call it dying,” Ray adds. “But we’re cool.”

“Who dies?” Geoff asks from the front of the group. It sounds like a serious question.

“Babies,” Gavin and Ray chorus, and Michael can’t help but laugh.

Maybe this is actually fine, he thinks. He’s about to live for a long fucking time with these boys. He still doesn’t know what he’s doing in this crew, but now that he knows he has a while to figure it out, learning doesn’t seem like such a daunting task.

“Michael, I will give you five thousand dollars if you wet-willy Geoff,” Gavin whispers, and Michael smiles.

“You’re on, Gavvers.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at michaelgnomes.tumblr.com and talk to me about RT shit.


End file.
